


The Greatest Trick

by Cynical_Prince



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Butterfly Effect, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Ginny and Luna are best friends, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Lost Love, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Unrequited Love, War, War Veteran Ginny
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:08:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29855121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cynical_Prince/pseuds/Cynical_Prince
Summary: Whatever power Harry Potter was supposed to have over Voldemort nobody ever found out. He died at the second battle of Hogwarts, and the world fell to ruin. Ginny is given a second chance from the most unlikely person, with only one mission, to pull the wool over the eyes over the most powerful dark wizard of all time, and prepare Harry to win a war yet to happen.
Relationships: Arthur Weasley & Ginny Weasley, Bill Weasley & Charlie Weasley & Fred Weasley & George Weasley & Ginny Weasley & Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley & Molly Weasley, Harry Potter & Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Luna Lovegood & Ginny Weasley
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**December 1, 2001**

Everything was ash. 

Ginny limped into what remained of the Burrow, stepping over the debris and detritus that now filled what remained her childhood home and dug into the liquor cabinet, favoring her right leg. Bottle in hand she sank to the ground. 

Ginny wiped her brow, clenched her teeth, and poured the whiskey onto the gash in her leg. With a hiss, she reached a trembling hand into the cabinet for a clean cloth to wrap the wound. Her wand was lost to her, using magic potent enough to heal a wound would require she find a new one. Until then, she would be stuck with improvised means of healing. 

With the bandage tied, Ginny slumped against the cabinet. Most of the kitchen was in ruins. Most of the house was in ruins. Come to think of it, nearly everything everywhere was in ruins. Her family was dead, all of them, including her not quite husband Harry Potter.

Harry had been killed nearly four years previously at the pitched battle on the grounds of Hogwarts, where victory had been snatched from them. Voldemort had taken over magical Britain, and his genocide now swept across Europe.

Still, those who opposed Voldemort fought on.

Every time they had moved against Voldemort, they had been met with overwhelming resistance, and the Order of the Phoenix had been systematically eliminated, until only a handful of resistance fighters remained. 

They had believed it to be the work of a spy, Harry believed it to be Snape, but Severus Snape had also been killed in the Battle of Hogwarts. Ginny believed the spy to be one of their contacts, perhaps Mundungus Fletcher, but he, too, had been killed. Ginny never had figured out who it was that leaked each and every one of their plans to Voldemort. Even after the deaths of their suspects, their raids continued to be found out and countered.

Today had been a last ditch effort to maybe win, to rise from the ashes of defeat, but the prophecy held true. Without Harry it was like they never had a chance against Voldemort.

Hermione and her brother Percy were now dead in the burned out ruin of Big Ben. Ginny had escaped, had apparated to the ruins of the Burrow, where she now sat, alone, with her brother’s wand (that barely worked for her), and a broken leg. 

Even with the element of surprise, and their most powerful magic at their disposal, it hadn’t even been close. Voldemort’s power was too great, and he had acted quickly and with no mercy. Percy had died instantly, and Ginny’s wand had been destroyed trying to protect Hermione. She grabbed Percy’s wand, she ran, and now she licked her wounds.

Not that she would make another attempt. She couldn’t. She was spent, defeated, broken. There wasn’t anything, anyone, left to fight for. 

Ginny raised the bottle of whiskey to her lips and downed the quarter that remained. It burned, but it was distracting.

She reached into the cabinet for another bottle, she didn’t care much what was in it. Ginny felt the bitter tears fall down her cheeks, and let her misery consume her.

**May 31, 2002**

Peter Pettigrew had been working closely with a secret division of Unspeakables since Hogwarts had been captured and the students killed. A bold undertaking, and one not at all sanctioned by the Dark Lord. A project originally championed by James Potter and Sirius Black, but ultimately left unfinished when James Potter was killed and Sirius Black sent to prison. The other members of the Department of Mysteries had been unable to make headway of their work at the time, and the project had been set aside as a failure. However, when Voldemort rose from the dead and destroyed the wizarding world, it was the last glimmer of hope, to perhaps make possible the impossible. 

It was a chance at redemption that Peter Pettigrew had held at bay in the back of his mind since that fateful October night in 1981. Once he had allowed his fear to control him, once he had betrayed his friends, he had thrown himself into the cause of Lord Voldemort to distract from the guilt - and the self-loathing. 

The project folder, which was old and worn with use, was titled “The Greatest Trick.” It was the groundwork for a weapon to defeat Voldemort, a one time use trick to give the wizarding world a fighting chance. The research had gone on for nearly six years, and had required a great deal of technical knowledge in both Arithmancy and Runelore. Peter had never been as bright or clever as his former friends, but he knew enough to continue their work. Learning the Dark Arts had its own advantages, after all. The Unspeakables didn’t trust him, but he had the advantage of knowing how his former friends thought. Peter was too valuable to replace.

It was a modified version of a Time-Turner that James and Sirius had tried to create, once upon a time. And Peter Pettigrew had completed it.

He could send one person back in time. Just one person and just one time - a one way trip. The caveat, of course, was that James and Sirius actually believed the tripe that Albus Dumbledore spouted off about love being the most powerful type of magic. And according to their research, and his own, he would not be able to return himself. Because even if he did not believe Albus Dumbledore’s ramblings, Peter was forced to admit that love was an exceptionally magical powerful force.

Only someone who was truly in love could go back in time. Peter had never truly been in love with anyone. Few Death Eaters ever truly loved anyone. 

But Peter was a Marauder before he was a Death Eater, and despite his many betrayals and his overwhelming cowardice, he was also a Gryffindor. The Greatest Trick, of course, was that Peter Pettigrew would be the instrument of the Dark Lord’s demise.

All he had to do was give the device to the last living pureblood witch in Britain who was not on Voldemort’s side. He knew where she was, all Death Eaters did. She was not planning on fighting them, and she was left alone in her misery because she was not a threat. Ginny Weasley was broken, likely beyond repair, but Peter could not conceive of anyone else having a chance (even a slim one) to make this work.

The Unspeakables had their own plans, of course. They thought it best to send one of their own back, and to forewarn the necessary parties. Their plan involved winning the war before it began, altering the timeline and erasing the future in which they now resided. Changing the course of history was a fool’s errand, of course. But preparing Harry Potter to fight? That could work. The prophecy that had been made, if it was to be believed in at all, clearly stated that there was only one person in all the world who could win the battle. It was best to send someone back that could directly look out for Harry Potter. Someone who could be sure that Harry would be ready to change the prophecy in favor of humanity. There was no room for error, or for the arrogance of wizards who thought they could be the heroes that stopped the Dark Lord.

That night, Peter rose from his bed in the safehouse he had lived in since their work began. He gathered the materials he would need for this final betrayal, taking extra care of the small locket that would pull Ginny Weasley to the past, and killed the Unspeakables as they slept. It was not the first time he had committed murder, but perhaps, if everything went according to plan, it would be the last. If it didn’t work, it would be best to cover his tracks and return to the Dark Lord’s side posthaste, even if it was only to beg for a quick death.

Peter knew his betrayal would be known. Hiding from the Dark Lord for six years was suicide, after all.

He disappeared with the telltale crack of apparition, and popped back into existence in an alley beside a ramshackle muggle pub.

He felt the alarm trigger as soon as he appeared. He had minutes, at best, before the Death Eaters were upon them. No time to panic. No time to look back or to regret. Peter opened the door.

Within, the stench of despair and cheap ale hit his senses. He wrinkled his nose in disgust strode to the bar. Such places had always disgusted him, but they were places he understood. The self-loathing and the misery were his constant companions, this place only made them more real. The patrons were all lost in their sorrow and drink, and the barman was busying himself putting clean glasses on a shelf.

“A guiness, please,” Peter said as he sat beside a woman with filthy red hair.

Ginny Weasley did not look up from her whiskey. She did not react to his voice, one that should be familiar and hated. He glanced at her and doubted his plan would succeed. Ginny Weasley was haggard, filthy, and somewhere quite far past drunk.

The beer was placed before him. He took a long draught of the ale, savoring the bitter taste of his last drink.

“I have a proposition for you, Weasley,” Peter said. 

She looked at him with glassy eyes. “No,” she said. He was impressed she managed to speak at all.

“You mistake my candor as a request. You will be doing this, Miss Weasley,” Peter said.

“I won’t,” Ginny slurred.

Peter sighed. Pinched the bridge of his nose. “When was the last time you were sober?”

“December,” Ginny said after a moment’s reflection.

“It’s May,” Peter said. This may be a worse idea than he’d originally thought. But there was no turning back now. Nobody else to turn to or to send back.

“So it is.”

“You spend seven hours a day in this bar, Weasley. Don’t you think you should be doing something more productive?” Peter hoped that there was some spark left in her that wanted to fight. Some spark that wanted anything more than the oblivion of the drink.

“Being drunk is very productive. I don’t cry when I’m drunk.”

“What if there was a way for you to avoid crying and drinking?” Peter asked.

“I’m too much of a coward to kill myself. Believe me. I’ve already tried,” Ginny said. She sounded disappointed with herself. Disappointed for being alive. Peter knew that feeling all too well. He’d felt it often after he’d betrayed James and Lily Potter. He took another sip of his drink, and turned to face Ginny directly.

“I’m going to give you a necklace, Weasley. But you need to memorize a few things before then. June 6th, 1994. I escape and help the Dark Lord return to the land of the living. You must tell me something before then. Tell me that I pull off the Greatest Trick. Do you understand?”

Ginny looked at him. “I don’t want a necklace from you. You’re the reason everyone is dead. I hate you.”

Peter hated himself, too. “Do you understand?” He asked again.

“June 6th. Ninety-four. Greatest Trick. You got it,” Ginny slurred. “Now go away.”

“I need to be sure, Weasley. When you get there, write it down. Memorize it. Doing so will delay the return of the Dark Lord, perhaps indefinitely,” Peter said.

“Get where? What are you on about?” Ginny asked. She drained the glass of whiskey and ordered another from the barman before turning slightly to look at Peter more closely.

“You are going to stop the Dark Lord,” Peter said.

Ginny laughed then, a drunk, bitter sound. “Tried that. More than once. Never worked. Everyone I ever loved died trying. I won’t try again.”

“You will,” Peter said.

“No. Go away. Leave me to my cups.”

The barman placed another drink before Ginny.

Peter grabbed her arm and forced her to look at him. “I need you to pull yourself together for just a moment, you damnable woman! I do not have time to coddle you, nor to explain in detail why this must be done here and now.”

Ginny blinked and then snorted. She yanked her arm free of his grasp.   
  
“I’m afraid you are the only one in the whole world who I believe can do this,” said Peter.

“Why me?” Ginny asked. “There’s got to be someone who cares enough to fight for you to go and bother.”

“Do you or do you not love Harry Potter?” Peter asked.

Ginny whirled on him, eyes blazing with hot fury. “Never. Say his name. To me,” she snarled. “You have no right.”

Peter did not back down. “Do you love him?”

“I hardly see how loving a dead man is relevant,” Ginny said quietly.

“But you do,” Peter said.

“Of course I do,” Ginny said. “How could I not?” She downed the last of her drink, and then pushed her seat away from the bar. “I appreciate you coming here and ruining what little I was managing to enjoy my day. Let’s not do this again. I’m leaving.”

Peter caught her arm. “This will be disorienting, but you are the only hope we have. You’ll be pulled to the first meeting place. Best of luck, Weasley. And know that I am truly sorry for everything I’ve done. I was then, too,” Peter said. “Remember. June 6, 1994 or sooner. The Greatest Trick.” And then he slipped a necklace around Ginny’s neck, and twisted the small mechanism on the front.

Ginny vanished with a brilliant flash of light, and all around him, the muggle patrons gasped in shock. They knew magic existed, of course, the statute of secrecy had long since ceased to matter. Now they looked at magic with shock because they knew that magic almost always meant death.

He took another drink, ignoring the frightened patrons.

All around him, the pops of the Death Eaters apparating into the pub signaled his own end. To them, of course, Peter Pettigrew was sitting alone at the bar enjoying one last drink.

**September 1, 1991**

Ginny Weasley stumbled, completely off balance, and crashed into someone who was very much taller than she was. They both went down in a tangle of arms and legs, and Ginny was immediately in fight or flight mode. She knew that whatever Peter had done had caused a terribly bright light, and that now she was being forced to fight, one last time, for her life. She wouldn’t. The end couldn’t come soon enough. She wanted to be back with Harry, with her family. And being dead would give her that. She lay there with her eyes closed and waited to die.

“Oi! Gerrof! Lemme up!” Ron said, but he sounded like a child. But Ron couldn’t sound like a child, because he was long gone. She’d lost him, just like she’d lost everyone else.

“Ron!?” Ginny exclaimed. She blinked stupidly and found herself flat on her back in a place that was very much not a bar.

“Ginny dear are you okay? This is certainly not the place to be tripping over your own feet.”

Ginny knew that voice. She knew it, but it couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. The woman that voice belonged to was long dead. She sat up and took the hand of her mother, who was giving her a look somewhere between concern and annoyance. Unable to find her voice, Ginny nodded and viciously fought against the tears that threatened to spill. She looked around.

Two trains were stopped. Muggles went this way and that going about their business on platforms nine and ten. Several of them were giving her and her family strange looks, but Ginny had never cared less what other people thought. Percy, Fred, George, and Ron were all there. She wanted to whoop for happiness. She wanted to cry. She wanted to run away because didn’t know what was going on. She settled for staring at them, teary eyed and smiling.

They looked confused, or concerned, or both.

For an alcohol induced fever dream, this one was actually quite nice. Usually she had restless nightmares. Shame it would end. 

Best to enjoy it while it lasted. Ginny hugged her mother fiercely, then Percy, and Fred and George. They all felt so real, so alive. She could feel their warmth, smell them. This was what she had missed. The happy, complete feeling of just being with them. When she turned on Ron, he stepped away from her, and put his hands up.

“Not in public.”

“Yes. In public,” Ginny said. She crushed her brother to her in a hug that would go down in history books as one of the best. Ron squirmed uncomfortably against her. Ginny stepped back, and gave up on fighting the happy tears that flowed freely down her cheeks. 

She returned to her mother’s side, ignoring the questioning look and grasping her hand tightly. She was here, she was safe. She’d figure out why they were all so much younger later.

In short order, Percy, Fred and George went through the barrier to platform 9 ¾.

This moment was familiar, Ginny realized. Because… because…

“Excuse me,” Harry Potter said as he approached them. Ginny thought she might die. Her breath certainly caught in her throat. There he was. Alive. Her family. Her lover. All of them. What was happening? Ginny’s vision swam out of focus for a moment and she leaned heavily on her mother, desperately trying to anchor herself.

“Could you tell me how to… to…” Harry trailed off.

“How to get on to the platform?” Molly asked. “Not to worry dear, it’s Ron’s first time to Hogwarts as well.” 

Ginny stopped listening. She couldn’t do this. She didn’t even know what was happening. She needed a stiff drink. Reaching into her pockets for her wand, she found that she had no wand, nor any pockets that would be deep enough to hold a wand. Bugger.

Ginny closed her eyes and took several deep, steadying breaths. 

“What you do is just walk straight at the barrier between platform 9 and platform 10. Best do it at a bit of a run if you’re nervous. Go on now, before Ron.” 

Ginny trembled, watching her mother explain to Harry how to get to the Hogwarts Express. She wanted to hug him, she needed to touch him, to make sure he was real. She had been with him for nearly three years before he was brutally taken away from her in the thick of battle. 

Harry nodded, and Ginny tried to say something, anything to him, but her voice had left her. Instead she stepped forward and grasped his arm. It was solid, real. She could touch him. He flinched at her grasp and Ginny saw the briefest flash of panic in his eyes before she dropped her hand and mumbled an apology.

Molly gave her a look that certainly said she was unimpressed with Ginny’s behavior. Ginny didn’t care about the potential chores, because she knew there wouldn’t be any. She would wake up and all this would be gone.

And then he was gone, and she was being ushered through the barrier with her brother. The strange tingling sensation that accompanied a trip through the barrier made Ginny question what was happening. No dream was ever so realistic or accurate. 

She was dead, then. Pettigrew had killed her.

But that seemed wrong, too. He’d not attacked her. Pettigrew had ordered a drink, told her something about a trick, and then put a necklace on her. A necklace, she realized, that she was still wearing now.

Ginny lifted the chain with a trembling hand, and examined the pendant. It looked familiar, but she couldn’t quite place what about it she’d seen before. The pendant was circular, and contained an hourglass. All around the edges of the metal, strange symbols had been carved. She couldn’t read them.

But if she had this necklace that Peter Pettigrew had given to her, then what he’d said was real. That she’d  _ gone _ somewhere. 

If that was real then her family was really alive. Harry was really alive. Everyone…

She was going to hyperventilate. This was too real to be some sort of drunken stupor. She could see it now. Here, on the platform, there were people she knew, people she loved. Friends, family members, her lover. Seeing them all in front of her, alive, was too much. 

She was left mostly to her own devices while her mother ushered her brothers onto the train. Ginny took the opportunity to find a nice, quiet corner to empty her stomach without anyone seeing. She felt sick, overwhelmed.

She returned to her mother’s side just as Percy walked back off the train without his trunk in hand. Ginny hugged him again, burrowing her face into his robes. Percy patted her on the back and hugged her back.

“You know it’s only for a year, Ginevra. You’ll be at school with us next year,” he said.

“I know,” Ginny mumbled. “I’m just gonna miss you. I love you.”

Percy laughed, and gave her a squeeze. “I love you, too.”

Fred and George came off the train next, loudly explaining that they’d met Harry Potter on the train, gesturing to one of the windows as they did so. Ginny did her best not to dash onto the train and attach herself to Harry with a permanent sticking charm. Instead, she busied herself with giving Fred and George the same treatment she’d just given Percy.

“I love you two,” Ginny said, one arm around each of them.

“We love you too.”

“We’ll send you a present to remember us by this year.”

“Now be sure to behave this year, boys,” Molly said to Fred and George. “I don’t want to hear that you’ve gone and blown up a toilet the first week of school.”

“Blown up a toilet?” Fred said.

“We’ve never blown up a toilet,” George said.

“But great idea!”

“Yeah! Thanks, mum.”

“That’s not what I-- oh nevermind,” Molly said.

“Send me the toilet seat,” Ginny said to them. “That can be your present to me.”

The twins laughed.

The train’s whistle blew, indicating that the train was leaving in five minutes’ time. She needed to see Harry, she realized. Needed to see him the same she needed to breathe air. Ginny ducked onto the train when her mother tried to talk the twins out of sending a toilet seat home.

She knew which compartment was Harry’s, because Fred and George had pointed it out when they’d come back off the train without their trunks. She ducked past the older students, and slid down the train until she reached the compartment door. He was there, gazing curiously at her family out the window. 

Now that she wasn’t moving, she was able to get a real look at him. He was alive, that much was certain. Alive and curious about a new world that had just been opened up to him. His clothes were old and threadbare and several sizes too large for him, and his hair was messy like she remembered. 

She wanted to go speak to him. But what was there for her to say? ‘Hi Harry, we’ll be lovers in just shy of a decade. I’ve come back in time somehow because a known traitor gave me a necklace.’ She was certain that would end in disaster. 

Ginny couldn’t think of any reason for her to barge in on him, let alone for her to wrap him up in a hug and never let go. Harry hadn’t done well with physical contact and open affection in the beginning. Not after his upbringing. 

For now, just looking had to be enough for her, even though she knew it would never be close to enough. She placed a trembling hand against the glass and tried to memorize how he looked. So young, so carefree and different from the man she’d fought a war with.

“Ginny?” Ron asked.

Ginny nearly jumped out of her skin and whirled around. “What?” 

“What are you doing on the train?” 

“I, er, you didn’t come back and I didn’t get to hug you goodbye. So I came to get you,” Ginny said.

“Well, as you can see I’m not in that compartment,” Ron said. “Come on, we still have a minute. I’ll hug you on the platform.”

“Right,” Ginny said, and she cast one last glance at Harry.

Back on the platform, Ginny hugged her brothers goodbye and let her tears fall freely. They would be fine at Hogwarts, and she would have a year to ponder why and how she was back in her ten year old body once she was back at her home. At least everyone would think that she was only crying because she would miss them all while they were at school. Sure, that was true, but it was so much  _ more _ than that.

As the train pulled from the station, Ginny made eye contact with Harry, and she lifted her hand to wave to him.

He waved back.


	2. Chapter 2

**September 1, 1991**

Ginny was quiet, as she was led out of the station by her mother. The tears had dried quickly once her brothers were on the train, and now she felt confusion and a certain numbness instead of overwhelming grief and joy. The emotional rollercoaster she'd embarked upon had left her feeling more worn out than any day she'd lived since Percy and Hermione had died. All she needed to do was hold it together until she got home. There, she could fall apart in the privacy of her own room. Absently, she heard her mother tell her not to worry about her brothers, and that she would be able to attend Hogwarts next year.

She would have smiled at her mother at the reassurance, if that were the problem. She probably had smiled the first time - she didn't remember. But now, Ginny was walking towards the apparition point with her mother, reliving a memory from a life that had passed her by a decade previously. How could so much have gone wrong in ten years? More importantly, what could she do to fix it? She was a powerful witch, that was true, but right now she was ten years old and she had no wand.

Before the apparated, Molly knelt down and placed her hands on GInny's shoulders. "Are you feeling okay, dear? You've been in a right state since we arrived at King's Cross."

Ginny looked at her mum. She was younger and less worn than Ginny remembered. It was hard to make eye contact, but Ginny forced herself. "'Mfine, mum."

Molly scrutinized her for a long moment before nodding, and giving her a gentle squeeze on the shoulders. Ginny hugged her before she could stand again.

When she arrived home with her mother, Ginny took the stairs three at a time until she reached her bedroom. She closed and locked the door behind her with trembling hands, and then slid to the floor against the sturdy wood. She needed to think, and to try and process, but first she needed to let everything out.

All the pain she'd tried to drown.

Every bitter thought that had consumed her.

Ginny cried; great heaving sobs that shook her whole body and took the breath forcefully from her lungs. She cried until there her head was pounding and her eyes were dry.

When she was together enough to move, she made her way to her bed and collapsed onto the blankets. She breathed deep the scent of homemade laundry soaps and pulled her pillow to her chest.

After allowing herself a moment to just _be_ , Ginny rolled onto her back and examined the necklace again. She examined the runes etched into the metal, willing them to suddenly have meaning to her.

Suffice it to say, she made little progress.

How had she come here? She was unfamiliar with any type of magic that could affect time to such a massive degree. The problem was that she really only remembered snippets of her conversation with Peter Pettigrew. If she hadn't been so entirely drunk, she might have a firmer grasp on her situation. But she was pretty sure Peter Pettigrew had done the impossible. Time travel was heavily regulated, sure, but she was also certain that it was something that was only feasible when measured in hours. Not years. And certainly not _decades_.

Ginny's standing theory was that she was in some form of trance, and that Peter had simply hoodwinked her. Surely she was being taken to Lord Voldemort to be executed. If that were the case, then maybe she should enjoy her last hours with her mother and father. But what if? That was the real crux of it all. What if she really was in the past? The logical thing to do would be to plan for the future she knew was coming.

She would decide tomorrow. Tonight she would go downstairs and enjoy dinner with her parents because it would be nice. Ginny rolled off the bed and got to her feet. Her room was as it had been once. Everything was tomboyish and childish, and a heavy, reminiscent melancholy fell over Ginny as she looked around the space.

She picked up the broken doll that sat on the desk by her bed, destroyed by mistake during one of Fred and George's pranks. She'd been furious with them at the time, and they'd mitigated her ire by teaching her how to pick locks the muggle way. Ginny flipped the doll around and opened the back where the bobby pins were still secreted.

Ginny smiled as she ran her fingers over the flexible metal and smiled fondly at them. It wasn't that she needed to hide the bobby pins, she often wore them in her hair. It was that these ones were specifically for mischief and rule-breaking. Once upon a time they had been her primary tool for nicking her brothers' brooms when nobody was looking.

After the doll, she moved on to a sweater that was so well worn that it was nearly threadbare. It had first belonged to Bill, and eventually Charlie and Percy, before it was given to her. She pressed the sweater to her cheek for a moment, and then placed it back down.

By the door was an old stuffed bear that technically belonged to Ron, but it had taken residency in her room after Fred and George had transfigured it into a large spider. The spell had long worn off and the bear was just as cuddly and harmless as ever, but Ron stalwartly refused to have anything to do with it.

Ginny took the doll, the sweater, and the stuffed bear, and put them on her bed. She would spend a lot of time reliving memories of the things in her room and the rest of the house, but for now these were the ones she focused on.

When Ginny went downstairs for dinner, she hugged her father fiercely before taking her seat. Arthur, for his part, didn't question her clinginess. Ginny was grateful that he was delighted to have her hanging off his arm as he made himself at home.

She eventually released him when Molly put dinner on the table. Roast chicken, potatoes, a fresh baked loaf of bread, and a medley of sautéed vegetables. The smell alone was enough to make Ginny's legs tremble. Memories of family dinners flashed before her eyes as she took her seat, careful not to fall on the floor.

Ginny served the food slowly, admiring the food and swallowing thickly before taking a bite of chicken.

Her breath caught in her throat and she nearly choked on the overwhelming emotion that bubbled up from her stomach and burned through her chest. She sat, slowly chewing the chicken, and crying as quietly as she could.

It was the best damn food she'd ever tasted in her life.

Her tears dripped from her cheeks and chin onto her lap and against the edge of her plate. She took another bite.

"Ginny? What ever is the matter?" Molly asked.

Ginny looked up, only half aware that she'd been crying in the first place. Her voice cracked as she spoke. "It's nothing, mum. It's just good. Really good. Thank you. I love you."

Molly grabbed Ginny's hand and squeezed it gently. "You're welcome, Ginny. I'm happy you're enjoying your dinner. And I love you, too."

"I love you, too, Dad," Ginny said. She reached for him as well. Arthur took her other hand and Ginny felt okay for the first time in years.

The rest of dinner passed with little incident, and after hugging her parents one more time, Ginny retired to her room with a glass of water. She was exhausted emotionally, and she wanted nothing more than to go to sleep. But as she settled into her blankets for the night, the niggling anxiety she'd felt earlier in the day started to eat at her.

What if none of this was real?

What if she woke up tomorrow in her own bed in her own apartment?

What if...?

Her thoughts spiraled, and Ginny did her best to quiet them, but it had been a very long time since she'd tried to right her own thoughts without alcohol. Once the thought crossed her mind, she felt the familiar ache. That simple need to embrace the oblivion of the bottle.

She wanted a drink. She wanted ten drinks. As many as it took to quiet her mind and let her sleep.

 _I don't need it_ , Ginny told herself. _There's no reason to drink. My family is alive, my family is alive._

But it was no use. The _need_ for it was something that had become so integral to her. It wasn't her choice anymore. Ginny closed her eyes and hugged herself in the darkness. _Maybe it will pass_.

It didn't.

Ginny wrestled with herself for hours, but found little in the way of rest. Eventually, pitifully, Ginny threw the blankets away from herself and sat up. She glanced at the clock on her bedside table. It was just past three o'clock in the morning.

"Well, I'm still here," Ginny muttered. She fumbled in the dark for the broken doll, and fished out her bobby pins. "To hell with it."

Ginny snuck down into the kitchen, dodging the creaky stair with a practiced sort of ease that she was surprised she still had. She picked the lock on the liquor cabinet with one of her hair pins, and she drank a mouthful of the first bottle she could get her hands on with trembling hands. She discovered that her self perceived need for the drink did not at all agree with her ten year old body's taste buds. It was a strange disconnect. The burn of alcohol was a welcome relief, but at the same time, she gagged because the sensation was so much stronger than she had anticipated. Ginny forced herself to swallow, and took another, longer drink. With a grimace, she realized she'd have to get accustomed to the burning bitterness all over again.

It was something self-destructive to look forward to.

Ginny collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table, bottle in hand, and looked out the window. She needed a plan, she supposed. Or to get her mind wrapped around the situation she now found herself in.

The facts, as she knew them, were simple - and at the same time - terribly confusing. Fact: she was ten years old, but she remembered her life up until she was around twenty-one. Fact: it was nineteen ninety-one today even though it had been 2002 yesterday. Fact: everyone she had lost in the second wizarding war was once again alive - somehow. She should be happy. She should be sleeping soundly knowing that she had _time_. Time to be with them. Time to prepare for a war. Time to be better. She should be _happy_.

But she wasn't.

She was confused, and hurting, and most of all _scared_.

Ginny was scared that it wasn't real, or that it would be taken away from her. Ginny was scared for her friends and family, and she was scared that she wouldn't be able to actually change anything. She wasn't equipped for this, not anymore. When she'd been a teenager, idealistic and full of life she could have managed it. But she wasn't so confident now.

For one, Ginny was an alcoholic. And while her body no longer required a high level of blood alcohol to function, the mental conditioning of constant drinking for half a year was hard to overcome. It didn't help that she had come to like being inebriated more than being sober. And she couldn't do magic legally. She couldn't take steps to stop Voldemort. Not that it would do much, ten year olds didn't have particularly strong magic, legal or not. Ginny wouldn't find out until next year if her magical power had come back in time with her.

And what was more, she was broken. There wasn't any will left to fight in her. It had been extinguished violently, piece by piece, as she watched her friends and family die.

There was also the matter of Harry Potter, who she was in love with. She recognized that she should feel dirty, on some level, for being interested in him still. She wasn't a little girl, and he was an eleven year old boy who didn't know her. But she had been desensitized entirely. War and violence of every sort had made quick work of her moral compass. She wanted Harry, and she would try to have him, when she was able, and when he was capable of such a thing. When they were a few years older... But if he fell in love with someone else…

Well, she'd come to that when she came to it. Losing him again, even if it was simply to another woman, would destroy her. She didn't dismiss the idea of manipulating the situation out of hand. And that bothered her somewhere in the back of her mind. But not enough to recoil from the idea. Manipulating Harry Potter should have been off the table and it wasn't.

Ginny took another swig from the bottle. It burned as it traveled down her throat. She was feeling pleasantly buzzed after just a few sips and thirty minutes of sitting. She had a lot to figure out, but for now, the heavy feeling that accompanied drinking was taking over. Confident that she was sufficiently drunk, Ginny corked the bottle.

She rose, and swayed back and forth. Being drunk at ten was a lot more intense than being drunk at twenty. She appreciated that. The ease at which she'd been able to fade into inebriation was welcome. Ginny returned the bottle to the cabinet, locked the door, and went back to her room and tried to sleep.

**August 16, 1998**

The wards were set, Hogwarts was as protected as they knew how to make it, and every capable fighter was in position for the pitched battle that would take place. The first time Hogwarts had been assaulted, Voldemort and his Death Eaters had been repelled, and Harry had championed a victory against the darkness.

Hailed as the Chosen One and the Savior, Harry had been elected to lead the war effort against Voldemort after the battle.

The offensive counter-attacks had been disastrous, and so many members of the Order had fallen since, and now Ginny was once again prepared to defend the ancient castle. Tomorrow their war would be decided, good or ill, once and for all.

The last time they had defended the castle, many aurors, professors, and members of the Order of the Phoenix. Now most of them were dead, and the defence was Led by Harry, not the Order, and those students that were knowledgeable or skilled enough to fight.

He was nervous, she could tell. The weight of everything was now on his shoulders and that clearly terrified him, but there was only so much she could do. Harry had to fight, no amount of preparation or wishing could change that. The question was, if he fought, and when he won, what would the price be? How many would die?

She reached for him, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. He didn't turn around immediately, but the warmth of his skin was a comfort to her. She placed a kiss on the back of his neck, and then down the muscles of his naked back. She looped her arms around his waist and kissed over his shoulder, trailing her lips across his flesh.

She felt him inhale sharply when she began to nip and suckle at the nape of his neck.

"Ginny," Harry said, looking away from the grounds and back to her. He looked like hell. He had seen hell, over and over again, but his eyes were dark with desire. She could give him that much, at least. She could take his mind far away from the hell they lived in for a few hours.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him fiercely. Harry responded in earnest. When they broke apart, Ginny smiled coyly, and led him up the stairs to the room they had secured for themselves. The fear of the dawn kept them awake, but they found distraction in hot kisses and passionate love making.

After, hey dozed until the sun rose, whispering comfort and caressing one another. It wasn't really sleep, not like they needed, but they wouldn't have managed any if they had tried.

The attack started before they were dressed, and they scrambled to join the defence.

It was fast, brutal, and Ginny saw too many of her friends and family members die as they fought through the floors of Hogwarts toward the courtyard, where Voldemort was waiting for Harry.

Bellatrix Lestrange separated her from Harry. She dove behind a suit of armor as a bludgeoning curse passed between them. Harry wheeled around, ready to fire, but Ginny yelled, "No, Harry, you go. I've got her."

If she could stop Bellatrix Lestrange here, then Harry could kill Voldemort, and they could have a life. Oh how she wanted a life with him.

Ginny fired a concussive curse, a reductor curse, and two banishing charms in rapid succession. Bellatrix batted them aside with contempt. The walls where Ginny's spells hit were scorched nad cracked, and fighters on both sides gave them a wide berth. This would be single combat to the death.

Ginny rolled under a jet of sickly purple light, and threw three stunners. Bellatrix conjured a shield and strode forward. Ginny backed down the corridor, and eventually turned into a classroom. Ginny pivoted, and flung three desks towards the open door. She immediately followed up with a jet of flames.

Bellatrix vanished the desks, but was caught off guard by the fire. Ginny rushed forward at the sound of Bellatrix's yell of pain. She barreled through the door, caught Bellatrix around the middle, and threw them both to the floor.

A desperate struggle for wands began. Bellatrix was scratching, biting, cursing, and trying to angle her wand at Ginny.

Ginny was younger, stronger, and more flexible. Bellatrix was unable to overpower her, and eventually, Ginny sunk her knee into Bellatrix's stomach and pressed all her weight down. Bellatrix dropped her wand, winded, and Ginny dropped a vicious elbow into her nose.

She collected Bellatrix's wand, and shot a cutting curse at Bellatrix's head.

Panting, she made her way to the courtyard. And Ginny arrived just in time to see Harry fall to the ground, lifeless, at Voldemort's feet. She screamed, tried to run forward. She was filled with agonizing grief, overwhelming anger, and no fear of death. Ron grabbed her around the waist and hauled her back. Where had he come from?

"Let me go!" Ginny said. "Let me go to him."

"Ginny, you can't. He's gone. He's gone, we have to leave. We have to go now."

Her brother was right, but she didn't care. She was no longer capable of caring. She fought him every step of the way as she was dragged to the third floor and out a secret passageway.

**September 2, 1991**

Ginny woke with a start, shaking, sweating, and somewhat aware that there were tears on her cheeks. She took deep breaths, trying to calm her racing pulse and keep the panic from bubbling over. It was a marginally successful effort, and after a few minutes of sitting in the dark, Ginny rose. She would not be getting any more sleep tonight.

Her dreams of Harry, no matter how pleasant they began, always ended in twisted nightmares of his death.

Ginny rubbed her eyes and reached for the bottle of Hennessy she kept on her bedside table. Her fingers felt nothing but air. She blinked and squinted in the darkness for the bottle. Had it fallen onto the floor?The first thing she noticed was that she was still in the Burrow, and she was still ten years old.

Ginny didn't really know how she felt about that, but she rose from her blankets and left the confines of her room. It was still early enough that her parents were still in bed. She'd only been asleep for an hour or two.

Once more in the kitchen, Ginny gazed at the liquor cabinet. Conflict raged within her, the defeatism that had governed her existence for so long wanted to just drink until she fell asleep, but the part of her that still hoped, or was still ten years old, recognized that she had a chance to be a better version of herself. Drinking would not help. But it would make everything feel less… less.

Still shaking, she fumbled with the lock for several minutes. Conflict raged within her, and her shaking grew worse. With a grunt of frustration, she punched the cabinet, and sagged against it. Bitterness and frustration overcame her. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

Why was this happening? Why couldn't she have been left to drink herself to death in peace?

Ginny had already given up. Didn't the universe know how hard it was going to be to learn how to _try_ again?

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and then another, and another. Eventually her hands stopped shaking.

She turned back to the liquor cabinet, it was easier to open when she had use of her hands.

She drank from the firewhiskey deeply. The burning didn't matter. Nothing but her hunched over the bottle at five o'clock in the morning. She took another swig before she returned the bottle and closed and locked the liquor cabinet.

With a great heave of effort, Ginny turned from the kitchen and made her way outside. Bill's old school broom was still in the shed. She would fly until the sun came up. And then she would start preparing herself to live again.

An hour after the sun rose, Ginny returned the broom to the shed, and made her way back to the house. The tingle of alcohol was mostly gone, and flying had helped clear her head enough for her to have some semblance of a plan for the future.

Ginny was a veteran of war, and she knew more magic than the rest of her family put together. Her grasp of the basics was fuzzy, as it had been a long time since she'd studied formally, and it had been years at all since she'd done more than drink and cast only spells to lock and unlock the door to her ramshackle apartment.

Still, once upon a time she'd been a very skilled witch. She had to learn how to be her again. Unfortunately, Ginny did not know how. Molly was up and making breakfast when Ginny opened the door from the back porch and trudged into the kitchen.

"Ginny? What are you doing up?" Molly asked.

"Couldn't sleep," Ginny said.

Molly gave her a sad smile. "You miss Ron and the rest of your brothers."

Ginny blinked, she did miss them. But not the versions of them that were now at school. Her mother did not need to know that. "I do," Ginny said.

"You'll see them for the holidays, and I'm sure that you'll be sick of them before they head back to school," Molly said, bringing over a plate from the stove. Fried tomatoes, bacon, eggs, potatoes, and a piece of toast. "You'll feel better after breakfast, Ginny. A little bit of food always helps."

Ginny tried to smile at her mother, but she wasn't quite sure she managed it.

After breakfast, Molly kept Ginny distracted by having her help with the housework. Ginny remembered hating it before, but she welcomed the distraction. She hugged her father goodbye when he left for work, and then spent the rest of the morning working around the house.

Life at the Burrow fell into a routine for Ginny over the next few days. She would help her mother in the mornings, when she rose. Doing chores and preparing breakfast were mindless enough tasks, but she was able to focus on something that weren't traitorous memories or horrific nightmares while she was busy with her hands.

After lunch, she was usually left to her own devices, which resulted in a great deal of brooding and reliving painful memories. She spent nearly all of her time in her room, trying to divine a way to defeat Lord Voldemort and coming up with nothing time and time again.

On the fourth day of brooding, Ginny slapped a piece of parchment on her desk, and decided to write down what she did know.

_June 199?_

_Pettigrew_

_The Greatest Trick_

She couldn't remember the year, specifically that she needed to take action by, but she could fill in the blank in her memory with her own knowledge. In her second year at school, Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew had both been at Hogwarts. After that, Ron had no longer had scabbers. So Ginny assumed she had to act by 1994. It gave her plenty of time. She'd confront Pettigrew after she had a wand of her own. She was confident that she could best him if it came to it.

What was The Greatest Trick? That was a much bigger and more nebulous question. Ginny examined the necklace again, and decided to copy the runes from the necklace onto the parchment as well. She'd have to do research.

Ginny did not _like_ doing research.

Still, if she wanted to figure this thing out, then she would have to. Surely there were enough textbooks left in her brothers' rooms to get started.

Ginny started in Bill's old bedroom, digging through the few boxes in the closet and pilfering the bookshelf and desk found her with a stack of old textbooks, and Ginny took them back to her room before going to Percy's room.

Percy had left very little, but there was a box of old textbooks from his first two years in the closet. Ginny examined the cover of _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1_ for a moment before opening the book and leafing through it.

It probably wouldn't be helpful in the long term, but Ginny put the book back in the box and took that to her room as well.

She repeated the process in Fred and Geroge's room, treading cautiously in case she touched something that was rigged to blow up. They had a great deal of nonsense in their room, but Ginny found nothing of note except for a copy of _The Potionmakers Guide to Excellence_ that was lodged between Fred's bed and the wall.

Ginny checked Ron's room, and predictably found nothing.

That just left the attic. Ginny had never liked going up there. As a child, the ghoul that made residence up there had terrified her. She knew now that she was in little to no danger if she went up there to look through old boxes, but the thought still (strangely) made her uneasy.

Ginny went to the attic the following afternoon, and shuffled through the old boxes as quickly as she could. Her searching was largely futile, but there were a few hold books up there. She took them back to her room and added them to her ever-growing pile.

With her task done, Ginny sat back at the desk in her room and started hopelessly at the pile of books. She had no idea at all where to begin. She wasn't even sure what type of magic she'd need to look into.

She glanced at the necklace again.

Ancient Runes seemed like a good place to start.

Ginny dug through the piles of books and found one book on the subject. _Scribing Runes For Advanced Students, by Wulfric Lodge_. Ginny opened the book and was immediately lost. It was so obviously not for beginners that Ginny wasn't even sure she'd be able to work from the book without more knowledge or at least some kind of reference text.

Ginny closed the book with a sigh and tossed it back on the pile. There had to be something else she could do. She had precious few years to make sure Voldemort didn't come back or that Harry was ready to fight him.

She couldn't force Harry to master the first year curriculum from her bedroom at the Burrow, nor could she make any forward plans to find and defeat Voldemort. Ginny groaned and banged her head against the desk.

This was going to be complicated.

Being drunk was much less complicated.

Ginny wanted a drink, or ten.

Over the next few days, Ginny tried to formulate a plan. But she could come up with nothing that would _work_. She could steal her mother's wand and set out on a crusade, but she'd likely be caught by the ministry within a week. She could confess that she was a time traveler to her parents, but Ginny could not conceive of a way to do that without winding up in St. Mungo's long term ward for the incurably insane. And, once, she considered running away without a wand and figuring it out from there. But that was stupid. She was ten, and without access to magic or money she would be hard pressed to do anything useful.

Torn up scraps of parchment with half formulated plans filled the wastebin by her desk, but Ginny was no closer to finding a way forward. She'd eyed the massive stack of textbooks a few times, but most of them were Hogwarts books for standard education. Ginny knew those things, mostly. And what she didn't know she didn't have the materials to use as a proper starting point.

She wanted to try wandless magic, but she didn't know if it was safe to do as a small child without supervision. She was certain she could work it out, given time. But she was not certain that she could do it without hurting herself.

And so Ginny sat, and brooded, and failed to come up with a plan. She would rise, eat, help around the house, brood some more, and then sleep. She tried her best not to break into the liquor cabinet when her nightmares bothered her. It mostly worked.

She had been in her funk for two weeks before something clicked into place in her mind. She was helping her mother in the garden when she realized she'd been going about it all wrong. "Mum, do you mind if I go up to my room?" Ginny asked.

"What? Oh, that's fine, dear," Molly said.

Ginny took off her gloves, brought them to the shed, and then dashed into the house and up the stairs to her room. Ginny had been so focused on the end result that she hadn't properly considered the foundations of the plan.

While Ginny knew all the requisite magic to wage a war, Harry did not. He was an innocent eleven year-old boy who would need to be… prodded in the right direction. She could at least make sure he _knew_ what he needed. She rummaged through her pile of books, collecting all the school texts and began arranging them in neat piles by year and catalogued them all.

Ginny created a study table for herself. She could read through them all one-by-one, and keep meticulous notes. If she was organized enough, she reckoned she could come up with more than enough ways to get Harry to master all the material and end up years ahead of schedule. The trick would be getting Harry to take it seriously. He'd picked up some poor study habits in his first few years at Hogwarts, and had only become particularly studious when it was life or death.

After she was dismissed from her chores each day, Ginny would hole up in her room and study the first year curriculum. While spending your days reading through textbooks was boring, Ginny felt it necessary. She knew the information instinctively, because the rest of her magical education had hinged upon it, but she hadn't studied it in a decade. And without going through everything meticulously, she doubted she'd be able to teach Harry more advanced magic in a step-by-step way.

As she read, she took very Hermioneish notes. She was going to have Harry 'teach' her as much as he could when she arrived at school. And she would fill in the blanks with clever questions and careful prodding. If he knew the material inside and out as well, then he would surely survive. If he survived, then so would her family, so would her friends, so would her dreams.

The idea had merit, even if it was dreadfully boring to basically create lesson-plans for each subject.

There was a tiny silver lining that made the part of Ginny that still wanted to live incredibly happy. That part of Ginny knew that reviewing all the material from her youth would allow her to get top marks and help Harry without ever needing to study. It would drive Hermione spare. It would make Ron tetchy. She hoped it would make Harry notice her before his sixth year. Anticipation flooded through her at the thought.

 _He's a child_ , Ginny reminded herself.

She was disgusting. She didn't care.

When studying and being secretive was too much for Ginny, she would go run errands with her mother. They would talk and bond, and Ginny treasured these moments. Her new memories were invaluable, because there was no guarantee that she wouldn't wake up in her old life. Nor was there any guarantee that Harry would win this time, either.

On a particularly nice September morning, just a few days before October, Ginny agreed to accompany her mother to Diagon Alley. The alternative was to spend the day at the Lovegood residence. And while Ginny did desire to see her friend again, she was not sure of what her own reaction would be. By the time Ginny had turned ten originally, she had already started distancing herself from Luna, out of fear of her strange tendencies causing social problems.

She remembered Luna becoming very strange after her mother passed away. She also remembered not wanting anything to do with Luna because of it. Ginny hated those memories of herself. But she couldn't remember exactly when she'd pushed herself away from Luna, she only remembered that it was before Hogwarts.

She wouldn't do that now. Instead she'd have to worry about breaking down crying for no perceivable reason when she saw her friend alive and healthy once more.

So, Ginny went to Diagon Alley with her mother.

They popped into the Alley, and headed down the bustling street towards Flourish and Blotts. Percy had written home asking if his mother could supply him with a reference text for his O.W.L. studies as an early Christmas present. Ginny knew her mother was hesitant to spend the money, but Percy had top marks, and he was on track to get nine O.W.L.s.

The bookshop was not nearly as busy as the street outside, and Ginny wandered down the shelves towards the spellbooks. Her mother headed straight for the used books section in the far corner. She flipped through a book on counter-curses for a moment, before finding the books on Ancient Runes. She found an appropriate introductory text and balked when she saw the price.

Books were, unfortunately, expensive. In addition to the Runes book, Ginny wanted to get her hands on some advanced spellbooks, and books on dueling, and warding, and curse-breaking…

 _Not now,_ Ginny reminded herself. _I can't right now. I haven't any money, nor a wand._

She considered simply stealing one, but couldn't figure out how to manage it. Her clothes were ill-suited to the task. With a sigh, Ginny turned away from the books.

If she didn't get the things she needed...

She went and found her mother, who was comparing two copies of Percy's reference that were in less than ideal condition. Ginny needed to get out of the bookshop as fast as possible, she could feel her hands shaking, flashes of Harry's lifeless eyes, of Fred lying dead, Percy's missing legs, were swirling in her mind's eye.

"Mum, I'm going to walk across the street and look at broomsticks," Ginny said.

"I won't be long," Molly said.

"It's just across the Alley, mum. I'll be right there," Ginny said, pointing to the broom shop.

Molly looked up from her books. "Do be careful, Ginny. Don't wander too far."

Ginny nodded. "Thanks, mum."

It wasn't the longest conversation she'd had in the last week, but it was close.

Back outside, Ginny leaned against the wall and took several breaths to steady herself. When her hands stopped shaking, she walked towards Quality Quidditch Supplies, but stopped when she saw Ollivander's out of the corner of her eye. What she wouldn't give for a wand. Maybe she could barter for one.

 _Barter for one with what?_ Ginny asked herself.

She aggressively shoved the thought aside.

Ginny turned and made her way into the wand shop.

Ollivander looked up from the counter when she entered. He sized her up, and said, "Red hair that shade can only belong to a Weasley. Aren't you a bit early to be coming to me for a wand? From my understanding, you are not to be starting Hogwarts until this time next year."

Ginny felt her cheeks heat up. "I, er, just wanted to look. Having a wand would be brilliant."

Ollivander gave her a smile that made his aged face seem thirty years younger. His eyes lit up with childlike mischief.

"But of course, Miss Weasley. Perhaps your wand is calling to you now. As they say, you know, the wand chooses the witch." He moved around the counter, indicated that she should raise her wand arm, and conjured a measuring tape from thin air.

As he worked, Ginny asked, "How do you know my name, and how old I am?"

"I remember every wand I've ever sold. And I remember every witch or wizard I have ever sold a wand to. Your family has been into my shop many times, and I have made more than my fair share of small talk. You have a brother that started Hogwarts this year, but he did not come to me for a wand. A shame, his magic won't be as good as it could be without his own wand. Using a wand from another witch or wizard just won't quite have the same effect. Ah, and we're done with that." Ollivander shook the measuring tape, and it vanished.

"So Ron should come next summer for a wand, then?" Ginny asked.

"Or sooner, if he could manage it," Ollivander said. "Now let's see here." He walked to the back, and came to the front with no less than a dozen boxes in his arms.

He opened one. "Seven inches, oak, with unicorn hair. Go on now, give it a wave."

She took it in her hands, and felt the weak spark of magic. It would work, but it wasn't hers. Her wand had been yew. But she wasn't sure she would get the same wand now. Ginny waved the wand, thinking of her favorite flowers. A single white lily came out of the wand.

"Quite brilliant!" Ollivander exclaimed. "But that wand is not for you." He took it, and produced another one. "Eight and a half inches, sycamore, dragon heartstring."

Ginny took the wand. There was nothing. She concentrated on the same flower again, and waved the wand. For a moment, something shimmered before her, but the wand was snatched out of her hand before she could force it into existence.

"Definitely not. This one, perhaps. A bit long, at ten inches, but we shall see. A rather interesting one, and unique in my shop, veela hair, and a bit temperamental. Made of yew."

Ginny again took the wand, it was hot, like fire. Perhaps even like a veela's fire. Ginny exhaled, waved the wand, and conjured a bouquet of lilies. But it didn't feel right.

"Close, but no," Ollivander said. "You have impressive magic, Miss Weasley. Powerful and focused. The wand we choose for you will be a catalyst for greatness, I'm sure."

She waved the other nine wands Ollivander had brought with him, and he went into the back to fetch more. Behind her, the door opened.

"Ginny Weasley, just what do you think you are doing here?"

Ginny winced. She hadn't intended to spend so much time here. Technically she hadn't expected to spend any time in the wand shop at all.

"I, er, was just waving some wands, mum," Ginny said, surprised by how much she still feared her mother's wrath.

"Ginny, you know we can't -" Molly started, but stopped when Ollivander came back to the front of the shop, his arms once again laden with wands.

"Ah, Molly, how are you today? I've been looking for a match for your daughter. Quite a tricky one, she is. Her magic is quite potent. Would you look at all the flowers she's conjured while we search?"

Molly looked about the shop, and saw the dozens of lilies. "None of the wands that made all these were her match?"

"I'm afraid not," Ollivander said. "Whichever wand has called Ginny into my shop has yet to be found."

Ginny looked at her shoes, feeling uncharacteristically embarrassed. She hadn't felt embarrassed in years. Well, her own years, not her current years.

"Mr. Ollivander, while I appreciate your efforts, we have an old family wand set aside for Ginny already, and I really must be getting home, so-"

"Absolutely not! Mrs. Weasley, you must know that each wand is uniquely suited to the witch or wizard with which it bonds. An old family wand like that will never allow your daughter to reach her fullest potential. I must insist."

Ginny felt awful. She knew her mother couldn't afford a wand right now, and Molly hated the embarrassment of admitting that their family could not afford something. "It's all right, Mr. Ollivander," Ginny said. "I'll be just fine with my family wand."

Ollivander looked very conflicted. He wanted Ginny to have the wand she was meant to have, but he was also running a business. It wasn't as if he could just give her a wand for free. Even if he might like to. It would set a bad precedent.

Well," Ollivander said as he deflated. "If that's the way you feel, I suppose I won't be able to convince you otherwise. I wish you would reconsider."

Ginny smiled sadly, and turned to her mother, "Sorry to make you worry, Mum, we can go now."

The look her mother gave her broke her heart. Molly didn't want to take something like this away from her daughter. And Ginny knew she would end up with her own wand by her second year. All she wanted to do was hug her mum and tell her it was okay, but she settled for grabbing her mother's hand and leading the way outside of the wand shop.

They were both quiet for a moment, until Molly said, "I'm sorry Ginny, but you know we can't afford it."

Ginny looked at her mum. "I know, I just wanted to see what it was like. Feeling all the magic flow through the wands was brilliant, though. Did you see all the flowers?"

Molly nodded. "Mr. Ollivander seemed very impressed with you."

"He did, didn't he? How long do you think it would take me to get a wand if I saved all my pocket money?" Ginny asked.

"Quite a while, dear. Wands don't come cheap."

Ginny smiled. "That's okay. I want to know what it'll be like when I find the wand that chooses me."

"That's quite mature of you."

"Well I am the only girl. I'm going to do better than all my brothers. Top marks, prefect, quidditch captain. Maybe even head girl at school. I'm definitely going to need my own wand for that!"

Molly gave her a wide smile, and pulled her close.

Ginny's heart fluttered with hope and happiness for the first time in forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up being a bit longer than I anticipated, but Ginny was leading the way. Tried to take a dive into what it might really be like to deal with her situation.

**Author's Note:**

> The start of something new. Updates will likely be relatively slow going. Hope you enjoy.


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